What A Pen Can Reveal
by Devour
Summary: The pens in Wilson's pocket are more than just writing tools. Another take on how House discovers Wilson's break up with his wife, and the interaction that ensues. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer:** I own none of it.

**Author's note: **This is just a fic that found its way into my mind, depicting another way that House could have found out about the end of Wilson's relationship with Julie. I haven't changed the specifics of the situation - the reason for the break up between Wilson and his wife are as they were in 2x14 Sex Kills. In fact, two (somewhat edited) lines of the end scene of that episode are used in this fic as testament to the fact that circumstances haven't changed.

* * *

James Wilson was meticulous about many aspects of his appearance. 

Sure, there were times when his shirt wasn't ironed. And his shoes weren't polished unless there was an occasion to do so - like when he was meeting with the attractive hospital accountant the next day.

But there were some things which he insisted on doing to keep himself looking respectable at work.

His tie, for example, was always chosen with care, and each morning he took a minute to stand in front of the mirror, ensuring that the knot he tied was presentable beneath his collar.

There was also his lab coat, which he liked to keep stain-free in a crisp white condition: he would drape it on the coat rack in his office every night to ensure that it remained clean for the next day.

But it was the pens that were kept in this lab coat which he took the most care in tending to. Each was clipped carefully to the fresh white linen of his pocket. Each was arranged neatly in a straight line, corresponding to a specific order. And most importantly, each told a story about its owner.

So while most people who knew Wilson saw only the happy face of the boy-wonder oncologist, with his cheerful grin and laughing eyes, Gregory House knew how to read him like a book, simply by glancing at the pens in his pocket.

He knew when to refrain from his habit of stealing Wilson's food when he saw the inky red pen which indicated I'm-really-pissed-off-so-get-out-of-my-way.

He knew when to invite Wilson over for a couple of beers when he saw the blue ballpoint pen with a funny shaped lid which indicated I'm-distressed-but-I-don't-want-to-talk-about-it.

He knew when to poke fun at Wilson when he saw the weird green pen that indicated I'm-feeling-great-because-I've-just-slept-with-yet-another-woman.

Then there were the pens that Wilson kept in his pocket at all times. These, House knew, were the ones that meant something to him.

Like the fountain pen he'd received from his parents in a celebration of his twenty-first birthday.

And the engraved one that Cuddy had given him on the day he was promoted to head of the Department of Oncology at the hospital.

So when House noticed that a certain gold plated pen - a pen which he'd seen every day for the last year or so - had gone missing from Wilson's pocket, he knew that something was up.

It was lunchtime, and House was entertaining himself by flicking peas across the table at Wilson's face, when he became aware of the pen's absence.

"Much as I'm enjoying the fact that you're not taking my food any more, I'm not sure that this is a much better pursuit." Wilson shook his head as he spoke, causing a few peas to fall out of his hair onto the table.

"What happened to your pen?"

House's sudden question was accompanied with a sharp look that pierced his friend's soft brown eyes. A frown creased Wilson's forehead.

"What pen?"

House gestured towards Wilson's pocket. "The really fancy gold one that you used to accessorise your lab coat."

"Oh, that." Wilson shifted in an attempt at indifference that was wasted on House, who remained undeceived. "I must've taken it home or something."

House shot him a withering look. "You always leave your pens at work."

"This one ran out."

"I've never even seen you use that pen."

House drummed his fingers on the table as he mused over the missing pen, perfectly composed. By contrast, Wilson was becoming more agitated by the second.

"Look, does it really matter? It's just a pen!"

"Not good enough."

Abruptly, House stopped his tapping as something struck a chord in his memory.

"Your wife gave you that pen."

Wilson sighed, shaking his head in resignation. House chose to take that as an indication that he was on the right track.

"What did she do this time? Must be pretty bad if-"

"We broke it off." Wilson rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, refusing to meet House's eyes.

There was a pause as the latter appeared to digest this information and make a conclusion.

"You idiot! You told her that you cheated on her?"

"_She_ told _me_."

"She was cheating on you?"

Wilson nodded grimly. "I moved out yesterday."

A raised eyebrow was directed across the table. "Okay then."

The seconds ticked on as Wilson waited for House to continue. It was only after a few minutes, when House reached forward to pinch a chip from his plate, that he realised there was to be no further response.

"Is that it?"

House looked up with his mouth full and his eyes innocently wide. "What? You weren't eating them."

A glare indicated that the reply was thought to be inadequate. House sighed.

"You're the one who was avoiding the topic!"

Wilson let out a choked cough in disbelief. House could read anger simmering in the depths of the blazing brown eyes that flashed at him.

"A friend is supposed to be able to tell the difference between I'm-avoiding-the-topic-because-I-really-don't-want-to-talk-about-it and I'm-avoiding-the-topic-but-I-really-need-to-discuss-it-with-someone." Slamming his palms down on the table, Wilson pushed himself off his chair and strode out of the cafeteria.

House watched him leave thoughtfully. Going after him was out of the question at this point in time. Besides, he knew that Wilson would be back later if he needed something else - something that didn't involve kind words and a shoulder to cry on.

In the mean time, House picked up another chip and, popping it into his mouth, deliberated over how he could best persuade Wilson to buy some new pens.

He'd need them for the next time he chose to avoid talking about a topic.


End file.
